larks that Sunday morning, and it seemed to
lift itself up to me and to come very close.

The river was running strong for midsum-
mer; heavy rains to the west of us had kept it
full. I crossed the bridge and went upstream
along the wooded shore to a pleasant dress-
ing-room I knew among the dogwood bushes,
all overgrown with wild grapevines. I began
to undress for a swim. The girls would not be
along yet. For the first time it occurred to me
that I would be homesick for that river after I
left it. The sandbars, with their clean white
beaches and their little groves of willows and
cottonwood seedlings, were a sort of No Man's
Land, little newly-created worlds that be-
longed to the Black Hawk boys. Charley
Harling and I had hunted through these
woods, fished from the fallen logs, until I knew
every inch of the river shores and had a
friendly feeling for every bar and shallow.

After my swim, while I was playing about
indolently in the water, I heard the sound
of hoofs and wheels on the bridge. I struck
downstream and shouted, as the open spring
wagon came into view on the middle span.
They stopped the horse, and the two girls in
the bottom of the cart stood up, steadying

[[266]]

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v?